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He is up in the sky throwing popcorn from his seat
Tracing mountains and making out their shapes the way we do with clouds
He's making faces and making sounds, and painting scary colours in the sky, beautiful colours in the sky
He's stomping his feet and clapping his hands, so loudly, very loudly
He's making faces and blowing raspberries so that it rains
He loves the rain
He is up there, up in the sky
having a ******* hoot
andisashayi Aug 11
I went out with you and did that alone too
andisashayi Jul 21
I called it 'alright', and you would have me apologise for that. Before, we both did not know what all the fuss was about, couldn't quite understand it;
You'll put your hand on your heart and say this isn't true.
Maybe it's what I deserve.
andisashayi Apr 1
It is time to go home. He crosses the road to a gravel pathway, where plastic sticks out of the ground like trampled shrubs, and a worthless coin half-disguised by the dirt catches his eye.
Perhaps it is alright that he knows no better; rubs it clean against his pants, and puts it into his pocket. There would be more coins, and they were bound to add up.
andisashayi Mar 21
You're a shoe in through a closed door, a red nose; a brown and orange man, tall with ideas not worth the paper it would take.
The weight of it all is quite severe, a knock to the side of a head.
Heed the warning; write it down, and not to be thrown away in the morning when you toss the covers and air the place out. It is a musty room, but still so full of promise.
andisashayi Dec 2018
They caught their moist fingers in the mailbox and left them there to dry.
What was best was nearly always decided (by and by) and written against the softest music. You could not push and toil, one would underplay the sting. Or carry the memory of it, and mail that too.
andisashayi Dec 2018
We stood near where the sheep came to relieve themselves; a crumbled brick wall around that old man's house who never greeted when we said hello.
"He's a mean *******," I said with quiet finality, holding my hand up against the glaring sun and you said nothing, you were looking down at the dirt. I took my things and had to walk past him and his little house to get home.
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